Page 114 of Diary from an Inked Throne

To watch MacGregor’s arms windmill for balance.

And for him to pull the woman I loved—we loved—over the edge with him.

I stood there, staring at the hole in the railing, hearing the sick thud of their bodies hitting the ground and James scream from the bed I’d slept in just last night.

My entire body locked up.

Luca pushed past me, running for the balcony, and it was only me grabbing him at the last second that stopped him from walking out there.

“Let go of me!” he shouted desperately. “Nyah!”

I wanted to scream too. It bubbled up inside me, until it was on the tip of my tongue but couldn’t quite come out. My brain blanked out in the chaos, only able to think about one thing at a time. Nyah falling. Stopping Luca from doing the same. The baby. Oh, fuck. Nyah.

I dragged Luca back from the crumbling railing. The baby screamed from his spot on the bed, and I went to him, picking him up, cradling him to my chest. Together, Luca and I ran down the stairs, meeting Lynx on the way, who didn’t even question what we were doing. I was vaguely aware of Luca’s men, the ones who’d been locked up but not injured, now storming the house, taking back what was ours.

But all I cared about was the woman lying on the ground beneath the balcony.

“Oh my fucking God,” Lynx uttered brokenly.

I stumbled forward, James screaming against my chest. “Call an ambulance!”

Luca picked up MacGregor’s gun that lay abandoned on the grass, none of us trying to be quiet anymore. He aimed at its owner, but it was pointless.

The closer we got, the more it became clear that MacGregor hadn’t survived the fall. His neck was angled all wrong, his torso twisted unnaturally.

Nyah lay to one side of him, her leg and arm so badly broken I caught glimpses of the white of her bone.

From a first floor on a regular house, a fall like that might not have done much damage. But on a house like this one, with high ceilings and sweeping staircases, it was more like falling from a rooftop.

Survivable for sure.

But not if you landed wrong. And neither MacGregor nor Nyah had landed well.

Luca fell at her side, picking up her head to cradle it in his lap. He slapped her face and shouted her name, begging her to be alive.

I couldn’t get a breath. Couldn’t move to help them. Just stood here, clutching my son, willing her to be okay.

Lynx dropped to the ground at her side, pressed two fingers to her neck, and tilted his head so his ear hovered over her lips. “She has a pulse and she’s breathing!” He rubbed his knuckles up and down her sternum. “Come on, Nyah. You aren’t fucking dying tonight.”

Her eyes flew open at the pain he inflicted on her, and she groaned.

I breathed again for what felt like the first time since she’d gone over the edge.

But then her face twisted in pain and she screamed, her complexion so ghostly white it was entirely unnatural.

Her breaks looked so bad. I didn’t even know who had called emergency services, but sirens wailed in the distance, all of them too far away for my liking when she was torn up with pain.

“James!” she screamed through gritted teeth.

My knees hit the ground beside her. “I’ve got him, pretty girl. I’ve got him. He’s right here.”

I brought him close to her face, pressed his chubby cheek against her much-too-white one.

They both quieted instantly. She reached her good arm, the one that wasn’t clearly broken, up to stroke the baby’s face. She went straight into mom mode, despite the pain that had to be racking her body. She spoke soothing words to the frightened baby, her voice calm and reassuring, full of love for the tiny child I held for her.

When his cries became nothing more than snuffles and his stressed-out little body relaxed back into sleep, Nyah stared up at the three of us, hovering over her.

“He’s truly home?”